Terrible Pillow
by Kalira69
Summary: Tobirama has spent most of his life pushing himself onwards despite exhaustion; to Madara's frustration he sometimes forgets it is no longer so often necessary.


"You're terrible at this."

Tobirama settled back in his seat, blinking, as the words tugged him vaguely out of his focus on the monograph in his hands. He glanced down to find Madara's sulkily pouting face looking up from his lap, and belatedly remembered feeling the warmth of another body settle close against him some time earlier, Madara's wild hair spilling across his legs.

"Terrible at what?" Tobirama asked, his voice rasping faintly. He frowned, brows drawing together, and cleared his throat, thinking vaguely of the teapot that was somewhere nearby. Probably long empty.

"Being a pillow." Madara said, cocking his head and eyeing Tobirama as though he should have known that. A pillow. Honestly.

Tobirama pursed his lips and glanced meaningfully at the monograph on methods of providing direction to natural waterways, then the nearby papers holding his notes. "I am working, not," he paused, lip curling slightly, " _being a pillow_." He tried to fill his tone with all his disdain for Madara's suggestion.

"You should be utilising _your_ pillow." Madara said, propping himself up slightly on one elbow. Tobirama wasn't quite willing to admit how much he immediately missed the warmth and weight of Madara's upper body against his thigh.

He pushed down the absurd feeling of loss and arched an eyebrow at Madara. "What, is that supposed to be you?" he asked dryly. "Wouldn't that make it rather difficult for you to attempt anything like this yourself?" He gestured at his lap.

"No, the one in your _bed_ , you idiotic genius." Madara huffed, rolling his eyes and absently blowing a lock of hair out of his face as he sat up.

"Those two things," Tobirama said reasonably, "are contra-"

"No they are not." Madara snapped back, almost gently. "You _certainly_ embody them both often enough. You infuriating man." he muttered.

Tobirama scowled at him. Madara feathered a caress over his cheek, then kissed it lightly, and in anticipation of it being a proper kiss Tobirama leaned in slightly, closing his eyes, without even a thought. He stiffened again abruptly, scowl returning, irritated with himself more than Madara this time.

"It's not an emergency, there's no reason for you to go without rest tonight to keep working." Madara said in what was really an eminently reasonable tone . . . for Madara. It was brash and accompanied by a scowl, but that was really Madara's default method of expression. Unless he was shouting.

"Unless I have a breakthrough; a spark I need to chase while it's fresh or risk losing it entirely." Tobirama countered loftily.

Madara didn't seem terribly put off by the clear and sensible point. "Have you been working on a breakthrough?" he asked reasonably, the evenness of his tone suggesting he thought he knew the answer.

Tobirama hesitated, then sighed. "No." he admitted. "Just studying in broad strokes for now."

"Then it can wait." Madara pointed out, rising to his feet and pushing Tobirama's low table aside a little. Not enough to take it out of reach. "Until tomorrow, after you've been to bed." He cupped Tobirama's cheek with one hand, tipping his head up to meet his eyes. "Leave it for now, aa, Tobi? Come to bed?" Madara suggested quietly, dark eyes fathomless and warm.

Tobirama frowned slightly at him and made a thoughtful sound. "I sense you may have an ulterior motive." he said archly.

Madara's brows arched. "Ulterior motive?" he questioned, sounding offended. "Like some sort of devious secondary reason to interrupt you?"

Tobirama favoured him with a flat, unimpressed look for what was no doubt a deliberate misunderstanding.

"Yes, I have _nefarious plans_ to get you to _rest_ before you turn into a raccoon!" Madara said, brushing his thumbs under Tobirama's eyes and kissing his brow. "Come on, beloved." he murmured coaxingly, hands sliding from Tobirama's face to his shoulders and down his arms, clasping his hands to tug him upwards.

Tobirama sighed and let Madara pull him to his feet, the monograph falling aside to land amidst his notes with a thump. The rush of his blood as he rose made him feel slightly off balance for a moment and . . . Madara might possibly have a point about his need for rest. Tobirama was long accustomed to pushing himself onwards without faltering even when his body and brain grew weary, but it wasn't _needed_ currently.

Madara gently kneaded his upper arms, then drew him into a firm embrace that made Tobirama sway on his feet, leaning into the strong, steady support and relaxing under the pressure. Madara murmured words he didn't catch into his hair, then stepped back, one arm remaining around Tobirama to guide him away from the couch.

Tobirama sighed, falling in behind Madara as he moved deeper into the house. "Maybe I wouldn't _mind_ exactly if you had nefarious plans for me."

Madara twisted to face him and Tobirama realised he had mumbled the words aloud, not merely thought them. He pinked. Madara smirked, reaching out to his shoulder, trailing a caress down his body to cup his hip.

"Perhaps if you start getting some decent rest every night, there would be _time_ for . . . ulterior motives." Madara said, dry and gently playful. "And energy." He tugged Tobirama close and kissed him softly. "I love you, gorgeous, but ashy pallor and exhaustion is sexy on _no one_." he said, voice low.

Tobirama frowned, then sighed. It was a fair point. Madara kissed him again before nudging him into their bedroom. He yawned, reaching vaguely for his happuri to pull it off and not remembering until his fingertips sank into his tousled fringe that he had discarded it when he returned home many hours ago. He paused, briefly thrown.

"You _cannot_ be working at your best when you're like this." Madara grumbled, tugging Tobirama's hand away from his face and taking over the task of undressing him. Tobirama leaned docilely into his hands, eyes sliding closed as he distractedly cooperated with the gentle tugs removing his clothes. Finally Madara's hands smoothed over his bare shoulders, tugging him down to press a warm kiss to his brow. "Sleep, beloved."

Tobirama opened his eyes and returned Madara's caress with a clumsy gesture that was more nuzzle than kiss, then stepped away, folding to his knees and sliding into the waiting futon. A moment later the room went dark and he smiled as it was followed swiftly by the warm breadth of Madara settling at his back.

He thought he spoke, but wasn't even sure what he might have said before sleep rose up in a quiet, dark wave and overtook him.

* * *

I finished this and their banter had snagged my attention suggesting a sequel was necessary. So . . . there will be one (sometime this week). Look for it under the title Ulterior Motive.


End file.
